


Till we meet again

by Tigresse



Series: Love Is All Around [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Awkward Romance, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Happy Ending, M/M, Moriarty is Alive, Sebastian likes Sherlock, Shameless Smut, Sherlock is lonely
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-29
Updated: 2020-04-29
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:34:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23916127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tigresse/pseuds/Tigresse
Summary: Moriarty is supposedly dead. John is married. Mycroft is busy. Mrs. Hudson has a new vocation.Sherlock is lonely.Until he runs into a very unlikely companion who will practically rebuild his life overnight!
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/Sebastian Moran
Series: Love Is All Around [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1723879
Comments: 4
Kudos: 23





	Till we meet again

**Author's Note:**

  * For [IantoLives](https://archiveofourown.org/users/IantoLives/gifts).



> For IantoLives - Hope you feel better soon and hope this fic cheers you up as you recover!

Sherlock Holmes was bored, annoyed and very disoriented. John had got married, a baby was on the way, Jim Moriarty had died and abandoned him (and Sherlock was sure he had faked it and was somewhere hiding, laughing at them), Mycroft had just got a knighthood and a promotion and was super busy with his work, mummy and daddy had started a joint venture of some horticulture project and had little time to visit…..

Even Mrs. Hudson was busy because she had a new business partner, a Polish lady named Anca who had paired up with her and started a home-grown catering business.

His loneliness made him laugh at times, a self-derisive laughter that caused much heartburn. See, there was a time when you fought with John because he was around you all the time, yelled at Mrs. Hudson whenever you needed her and then took her for granted, refused mummy’s lunch invites, wished Mycroft would stop visiting, plan to put Jim in prison. _Your goals are achieved, dear Sherlock, but to what end?_ These were the very people who made your life as interesting as it used to be. It was never the cases or _only the cases_. Sherlock sighed, wondering if he could go and get a small stash. John would be upset but then the man was busy with all those surgeries, extra hours in the hospital, wife and baby duty….

_Mary would find out, well, how the fuck would she! I am Sherlock Holmes for Christ’s sake, I can outwit any assassin, especially her since she does have a soft corner for me._

After staring at the holes in the wallpaper for almost an hour and finding a suddenly dangerous urge simpering just under his skin, Sherlock decided to get up and head outdoors.

Clad in his iconic trench coat, the striped muffler, leather gloves and boots to protect him from the stiff winds and low temperatures of early winter, Sherlock walked through the busy streets of London, then the quitter alleys, then a narrow lane that had a suspicious smell and an even more suspicious number of people milling around three small wood fires. He stood there, staring at the door, the back door to the seedy, dark building.

“Nah,” he murmured and turned, only to almost run into someone’s chest.

“Out of my way you dopey….fuck!”

“That’s rich Holmes, calling me a dopey….!”

“Huh? YOU?”

“Yeah! MEEEE!”

“Fuck, let me go, fuck, what do you think you’re doing? Stop, let me go, where are you dragging me off to?! You have no idea what could happen to you! Now _even he isn’t here to protect you_ , you-you big bully, _moron_!”

“Make that, MORAN,” the deep voice, deeper than even his own, almost like a distant rumble of thunder. Sherlock was not used to being so willfully manhandled or being around people who were as much taller than him as he was taller than John. He struggled, trying to turn his head to see the man who had him in an arm-lock, dragging him backwards in the next alley and then through the corridors within a house until they were in a relatively broader street with better lighting and more people. Before Sherlock could scream for help or fight back, he was tossed into the back of a large and luxurious SUV (a bottle-green Cadillac Escalade, he noted, but was unable to note down the number of the vehicle) and Sebastian Moran got in and locked all the doors.

“I am not going down without a fight,” Sherlock bunched and raised his fists and tried to kick the man on the chest.

Sebastian effortlessly caught his shoe clad foot and blocked his blows before rumbling, “I am not fighting you Holmes. There is nothing….no one left to fight for.”

That was when Sherlock used his powers of deduction and intuition to gauge his man’s intentions and realized, although a tad bit late, that Sebastian merely meant to get him away from there, not to kidnap or kill or bash him up.

***

“I hadn’t expected you to be living in a place like this.”

“Why? You think I should have built a palace with whatever loot he left for me?”

Sherlock was looking at the colonel properly for the first time. He had met him in flashes, fits and starts earlier but never had a chance to see him up close. The legendary second in command to Moriarty, the second most dangerous man in their country, now cooking dinner for him. He wondered if he was walking through a dream or living some sort of a voodoo ritual, where strange things happened around people and they couldn’t believe their eyes.

“You have seen what kind of place I live in,” Sherlock shrugged, taking a sip of his beer, “This is a thousand times better. A semidetached cottage with a proper front lawn and a backyard, a two car garage, four bedrooms, a kitchen big enough to play hockey in, this is fabulous.”

“You think?”

“Yeah, I mean you could buy a palace but as they say…it’s a lot harder to maintain.”

“A lot more lonely too.”

At that moment Sherlock felt a strange kind of commonality with the criminal sniper. Born out of that was a feeling of familiarity, as if he had known the man much better and for far longer than he did. Sitting there, in front of a decal adorned wall in the dining area of Sebastian’s kitchen, Sherlock saw in the blond man brush strokes of himself, John and even Jim. Like Jim the man had some steely nerves and iron clad will, giving birth to a stubbornness that was unmistakable. That also made him a risk taker like Jim. What else explained his move of bringing Sherlock to his house! Sherlock could call the cops on Sebastian any moment and with the mere press of a button on his phone or some hidden device.

That was where he saw similarities between himself and Seb. Loneliness. Being alone all of a sudden after years of shunning company when company was indeed available. But there was a tiny difference there. He could sense Sebastian’s isolation was more self-imposed than a natural course of events, like Sherlock’s case was.

“Why?” He asked.

Sebastian brought a spoonful of fragrant, steaming, rich meat sauce and held it before Sherlock’s mouth. “Taste.”

Which Sherlock did! “Nice,” he said, “A bit salty.”

“I’m yet to add the sugar and the cracked black pepper. That will balance.”

“I asked you something.”

“I heard you. Guess I wanted you to see where I live and also to know…. I am free to go now.”

Sherlock frowned at that statement. Where did that come from? Free? How could Sebastian Moran be free when there were so many charges still against his name? After Jim’s death things had gone downhill for Sebastian and he had not only had issues managing the web, the had left breadcrumbs all over the place and a case was being built against him at Mi5. Sherlock was very well aware.

“You’re escaping.”

  
“Nope,” Sebastian came over to the kitchen table with a big bowl of spaghetti with rich red sauce, juice meatballs, fresh crusty bread on the side to mop up the juices, an olive and potato salad with crumbled cheese and powdered spices and a bottle of fine wine. “Grab the plates, flutes, water,” he ordered gently, “So I got my new passport, a new start awaits. I will be moving to Cagliari, Sardinia.”

A sudden emptiness filled Sherlock’s heart but he shook it off. Why am I feeling this way? What does he even mean to me? I hadn’t met him in months. We aren’t friends, we aren’t exactly rivals, we are not even associates or aides or allies. Merely acquaintances! Then why exactly does it feel like a loss?

“You got a little help from him?” Sherlock asked honestly, “I am expecting an honest answer.”

He got no response from Sebastian, instead the man checked on the dessert he had kept in the fridge to cool and set. It was a toffee and coffee flavored pudding he had made at home, a painstaking effort no doubt. His cooking skills, patience in the kitchen and sometimes steely silence reminded Sherlock of John. Both men carried that flavor from their military days. They could be warm and affectionate but also cold and distant if they had to, their ability to adapt and change and mold themselves according to situations was remarkable. Perhaps that was what Jim loved about Sebastian too. “Why won’t you give me an answer?” Sherlock snarled, angrier at himself that he couldn’t deduce.

“What do you really want to know,” Sebastian served him his food.

“Why did you drag me away from there?”

“You aren’t supposed to lapse. One little moment of weakness and you lose years of effort in staying clean. Be resilient.”

“I am here, dining with you! Any specific reason for this kindness and allowing me entry into your home?”

  
“This isn’t a home if you look closely. I thought you’d be hungry and sometimes it’s good to have company while you eat.”

There was no sadness in the tone, merely that earlier emptiness. Sebastian’s voice echoed in his barren world and there was no one who understood that better than Sherlock, due to a similar situation in his own life. “Yeah, this is no home,” he admitted, “When you gave me the grand tour I saw there were no photos of him. There are no personal touches or cozy corners. This place is utilitarian more than comfortable.”

“Yeah,” Sebastian took a mouthful of pasta, “Got that right. Eat, this is really good….even if it’s the cook himself who says so!”

Sherlock had more or less lost his appetite as a burning question swirled in his heart and mind. But out of politeness he took a mouthful. Yes, it was good, it was better than good in fact. He took a second bite and then a third, washed it down with a sip of wine and a chug of water.

Then he asked the all-important question. “Is he alive?”

Sebastian looked up from his food and studied Sherlock for a long moment. Then with practiced ease he said, “No.”

“Sure?”

“Yes, of course I am sure. I am as sure as I know you are Sherlock Holmes.” The response was a sneer, a far cry from Sebastian’s more or less pleasant and gentlemanly demeanor so far. Sherlock had a natural pout forming on his face as he heard that and dropped his fork with a clang on his plate. The next moment the same fork was picked up and pushed between his fingers. “If you behave like a kid Jimmy I will treat you like one I swear…” Sebastian lashed out, then stopped abruptly mid-sentence. Sherlock froze too, his green eyes meeting Seb’s blue ones as they tried to make sense of the odd situation they were both caught in. They could see each other clear as crystal but there was an invisible wall between them that blocked all sense and sounds.

“I know why you brought me here,” Sherlock murmured, “I know now.”

“You did?” Sebastian asked, “You finally deduced, as I see!”

“You wanted to see what he saw in me….or see through my eyes what I had once seen in him.”

Sebastian was briefly taken aback but recovered admirably fast to point his fork at the plate of salad. “My super-specialty, try it.”

Sherlock did as asked because by then he knew pretty well which way this was going!

***

“Fuck….o fuck, this is….”

“Hhnnnnrrrr!”

The animalistic growl from Sebastian was followed by a thrust hard enough to nearly rip him into two! Sherlock’s face was smothered into a pillow, he had been on all fours but Sebastian’s brutal fucking had pushed him down on his face and shoulders, keeping his arse raised in the air. Sebastian continued to fuck into him relentlessly as he gripped the sides of the detective’s hips, perhaps leaving marks there which would remain for days, while Sherlock cried out with both the excruciating pleasure coursing through him as well as the overwhelming sense of sadness, frustration angst that threatened to pour out of him.

“He called you,” Sherlock screamed, “He called you over, didn’t he?”

“You’re tighter than I thought you’d be, virgin!”

“Deeper, harder, is that the best you got?”

A large and strong hand clasped his mouth and he bit down on it to remove it. But Sebastian didn’t even seem to feel the pain as he continued to ravish him while cutting off his speech.

And boy did he make Sherlock feel good that way! If his handful of times with John had made him excited as a schoolboy and later as dissatisfied as a bored housewife, if his couple of times with Jim had been red-hot and all-consuming, sex with Sebastian felt like the best of both worlds. For starters, he was larger and much stronger than him and he knew exactly how to handle Sherlock, take him to the brink and keep him there. He read the detective’s body much like the detective read minds and explored it like a map. Now and then he struck gold, making Sherlock moan and scream with pleasure but this was so much more than mere sexual ecstasy. This was similar to being in a BDSM drama on stage, a role play of sorts, something dirty and flirty, hot and sweet at the same time.

Tugging and pulling at his curly hairs and smacking him hard on the sides, Sebastian made Sherlock feel occasional bolts of pain to remind him who was the boss, then he kissed and doted on him and made feel like a pampered prince, only to sprinkle him later with a liberal dose of angst to keep him tethered to his original purpose – To find out what this man was up to and reach out to Jim Moriarty through him. It was as if Sebastian was reaching out to him to make him ask questions, reveal some purpose behind all of this.

Before he could unravel the mystery, Sherlock found himself losing the battle of will. He had held back with remarkable self-control but now he was about to explode.

He knew it would be spectacular.

“Let go and cum. I got you.”

An assurance, a command, a gentle order, a promise! Sherlock couldn’t wait even a second longer as he unloaded in Sebastian’s large hand that was stroking him up and down. The next moment Sebastian bellowed as he unleashed his release inside him, gushes of warmth and twitches of the thick muscle.

Sherlock flopped sideways on the mattress and Sebastian flopped the other way, making them face each other as they recovered from the mind-shattering climax. Their eyes met in the dark, purposeful, curious and affectionate. Yes, affectionate. Sherlock knew they felt a connection.

“Detective….”

“William.”

“Funny. He calls you that, still.”

“Thanks for the answer. Hope he is well. Are you going to join him?”

“Yeah.”

Sherlock felt a sense of elation and a corresponding twinge of jealousy. Whatever this fellow was, Jim clearly valued him more than Sherlock, enough to let him in on his secret while keeping Sherlock in the dark and guessing. But then, what exactly was his claim to Jim and Jim’s life? The fact that they shared the same streak of brilliance while pursuing different goals or the fact that they were two physically attractive young men close in age and tastes and had managed to have two or three sexually charged romps in bed? Didn’t make for a big claim there! The detective sighed, then turned to lie on his back, staring soulfully at the ceiling. He kept doing that in silence till he felt a heavy but assuring weight across his waist and the gentle peck of lips against his cheek.

“Don’t grouch.”

“Easy for you say. You’re joining him.”

“He didn’t call you for a reason, you have a life here.”

“What life? John is gone. Jim is gone. Sometimes it seems even Myc is gone. He has started seeing Gareth Lestrade now, in addition to all those important people who suddenly want to spend time with ‘Sir Mycroft Holmes’.”

“Oh Sherlock! Do you hear yourself speak? Listen, you didn’t lose John. You gained Mary and soon a godchild will be yours. You agree Mary is a good friend and likes you, supports you, right?” Sebastian paused and looked for a moment into Sherlock’s eyes, searching for the truth there. When Sherlock gave a small, imperceptible nod he continued, “So then she will never be in the way. There has been a change there, it’s not the end of the road.”

“Like you know it all.”

Sebastian grinned.

“I don’t believe this,” Sherlock exclaimed, “Actually I do. Mary tipped you off.”

“Yeah. She had once been a colleague. We have been in touch.”

“Did she…did she know about Jim?”

Sebastian somehow didn’t answer that. Instead he switched topics, “John and you were better off as friends and colleagues. You _still are_. Flat-mates, lovers, _maybe not_. To be fair to him, he was lost at sea when you simply played dead and disappeared, leaving him with nothing more than just a grave and some memories to fall back on.”

“There was Mrs. Hudson too….”

  
“Yeah sociopath, she was there too, but not as a replacement,” Sebastian ruffled Sherlock’s hairs, “She was there as a support, as someone who was grieving as much as you! But that didn’t make things easier on him. If one person could so easily replace another in our lives, none of us in this world would be attached to human beings. Just like objects, we could replace a pair of favorite denims with a new one or a broken artifact with a similar other piece. As for the Iceman, once the newness of the knighthood and the relationship wears off he will be back in your flat five times a week, playing backgammon with you and finishing all your Oolong tea while lecturing you about how to live your life.”

Sherlock began to smile.

“That’s better. You look better smiling.”

“You look better attached to me.”

“Want to get a bit more attached? Like right now?”

“I wouldn’t mind.”

***

Sherlock woke up to find himself alone in bed.

That didn’t surprise him. It was one-thirty in the noon and the sun was high in the skies by then. Sebastian leaving the bed was not a shocker. They had made love several times till Sherlock had let out all the emotional angst through multiple releases, crying and screaming and then slowly getting calmer and more settled.

Eventually sleep had overtaken him. But it hadn’t been the disturbed, broken, fitful, nightmare-riddled, shallow slumber that he was used to. It was deep, long, peaceful. He felt incredibly well-rested and full of energy. With a yawn and an elaborate flexing of arms he sat up, then quickly swung his feet over the side of the bed and got up from it. In ten minutes he was brushed (Sebastian had given him a new toothbrush), washed, dressed again.

Instead of Sebastian, he found only a note taped to the fridge in the kitchen. There was hot food on the table, freshly brewed tea, Sherlock’s phone charged 100% and kept beside a tall glass of freshly squeezed orange juice. The words on the note were simple and short.

_‘You will never see me in London again. Last night was wonderful. Will remember – CSM’_

Moments later a housekeeper sauntered in through the kitchen door that led to the backyard, holding a stash of freshly washed clothes in her arms. Before the poor lady knew it, Sherlock had a knife against her throat. “You cooked and served this just now, didn’t you?” He snarled, “You work for him. You know where he went. You know his number. Don’t even try to deny any of these things.”

A second later Sherlock felt the press of a pistol’s loaded end against his right side. His fiery green eyes stared into the pale blue ones that glared back at him, unafraid and undaunted.

“Let it go Mr. Holmes, I was a former assassin too, just like Rosamunde Mary.” The woman was in her mid-forties and looked like any bank worker, teacher or a manager at some retail store but she was formidable, strong and dangerous, as her tone and unfazed attitude suggested. Definitely not the sort to be toyed with. “I just want to speak to one of them again, if not James then Sebastian,” Sherlock said, unperturbed by the feel of the firearm. He couldn’t be abandoned just like that, not after the kind of night they had. He needed some more answers and he was sure as hell going to get those. After a moment he let her go and said a word that often didn’t even exist in his vocabulary. “Please.”

“Fair enough Holmes,” she said, briefly considering the situation, “I’ll give you a number to call. But that number won’t work after another hour. By then the flight would take off and that phone and number would be shut off, forever.”

“I’ll call him right away, before any of that happens.”

That unmistakable baritone answered after three rings. “William? Slept well?”

“What the fuck are you playing at Moran?”

“Don’t do drugs, don’t do self-harm. Do what you love to do and do so well; investigation, solving cases, profiling criminals. England is yours, London is your territory, stick to it as much as you can. As for me, if things go well then maybe in future we can meet again.”

“And him?”

“Can’t commit on his behalf, but yes, when we meet I will try and get him too.”

“How will I find you?”

“My initials. The name you call me by….”

“CSM. As you wrote in the note. Colonel Sebastian Moran. So a hotel, a restaurant, an estate, a company or an institute, named CSM. Place – Cagliari, Island – Sardinia, Country – Italy!!”

He heard a chuckle and then the clicking of a tongue. “I knew you’d note that. Hence the note and the note within the little note. Okay, I have to go now but just one last thing I wanna say, William. You have to answer one question of mine. I answered quite a few of yours so it’s only fair I get one of mine.”

“Sure, go ahead.”

Sherlock had more or less guessed what that question was going to be but chose to give his lover the liberty of asking him openly! Sebastian lowered his voice and spoke in a thick, almost raspy manner. “Why did you spend the night with me last night Sherlock Holmes? You could have walked and I would have simply allowed you to do so to but you decided to stay on. What did it mean to you?”

Sherlock smiled, a new sense of purpose blossoming within him. A new streak of excitement coursing through him. A new realization striking him swiftly. His story with John hadn’t concluded the way he wanted it to, but the story had its own happy conclusion. Instead of John the flat mate and occasional lover, he had John the friend and co-investigator, Mary a great pal and sister-figure and a future godchild who could be a protégé, someone who’d keep his legacy alive for years.

_It was time for a new story, an unusual story._

“I am asking you William,” Sebastian asked again, “What did last night mean to you.”

A sigh, followed by a dry chuckle and Sherlock answered, “It meant nothing.”

“Really?”

“It meant nothing…..until I woke up and found you gone. I missed you.”

“Really? For me or for him?”

“Let’s face it Colonel, the men we love do not love us back….not that way. It won’t change. We can choose to accept that and find what we want somewhere else or just stay put and keep writing a story whose end we already know. Last night we found each other, we found a possibility amidst a sea of uncertainty as you navigate a new life and I navigate a new phase of mine. We can accept this new opportunity with attitude or gratitude.”

Sebastian was quiet for a few moments before he murmured, “I was supposed to disappear. I tried. But I left a way for you to contact me again. So then can you keep a secret, even from your big brother.”

“Sure, as long as you can keep a secret from _him_?”

“I can and I will. Gotta go now. So what should I say, _till we meet again?”_

Sherlock smiled and poured himself a second cup of tea, “Don’t be soppy now. Just get there quickly and wait for me. Don’t send me an address or even a location. Just leave the key under the doormat and keep the lube under the pillow.”


End file.
